


The Food of Love

by birdkeeperklink (speculating)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dwarves in the Shire, Fluff, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speculating/pseuds/birdkeeperklink
Summary: After the battle, Thorin and Fili are tired and wounded. Bilbo decides what they need is a nice, long stay in the Shire to recover their health and good spirits -- and Bofur isn't about to be left behind!Written for the Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday exchange 2019
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Bofur/Fíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 209
Collections: Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2019





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antieyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antieyes/gifts).



> antieyes, your prompt was (in part) as follows:
> 
> SFW Likes: (human or middle earth) modern au, animal au, **everybody live nobody dies** , reminiscing, bittersweet, school/university, confessions, **growing old/reshirement** , everyone de-aged/kids au, trans characters, fem au, babysitting, **healing/comfort, dwarrow instead of dwarf, original/movie's takes on characters' appearances, (platonic and romantic) "soulmate" au** , afterlifes are reunited after Arda Remade, extended family/genealogy, **sharing dreams/goals** , memes, **body positivity, musician Fili, bathing** , instruments left in Bag End, glow up, (progressively) healthy relationship, silly fluffy nonsense, nature, **Bofur's hair loose** , -Ur family being amazing
> 
> The parts I bolded were the elements I think I was able to include, hopefully to your satisfaction! :)

Bilbo Baggins had had enough. Thorin and Fíli had started arguing -- _again_ \-- and this time it had ended with Kíli leaving near tears and one of the teacups Bilbo had painstakingly salvaged shattered against the wall. Much to Bilbo’s surprise, Fíli was the one who threw it, as he confessed sheepishly after Bilbo started laying into Thorin, and while he had apologised and promised to replace the cup, enough was enough.

So it was that Bilbo had, with his few remaining shreds of dignity and a great deal of offended hobbit wrath, summoned Kíli, Balin, and Dáin to a private meeting, just the four of them.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” Kíli wondered.

Bilbo’s wild-eyed look of rage must have been enough to convince him that he was, in fact, allowed to summon people for meetings, because he went to collect Balin and Dáin without another word.

Balin and Dáin looked amused by Kíli’s obvious terror when they arrived, but they settled into their chairs and turned to Bilbo with serious enough expressions to smooth his ruffled feathers somewhat.

“I am going back to the Shire,” Bilbo announced without preamble. “And I am taking Thorin and Fíli with me.”

Balin sat back, his expression resigned, as though he’d known this was coming.

Kíli’s mouth dropped open. “ _What_?! But you can’t! Who’s going to rule Erebor?!”

Dáin clapped him on the shoulder, his smile surprisingly gentle. “You are, lad -- with some help from me and Balin, of course.”

He paled to the approximate colour of sour milk. “But -- but I can’t! I’m too young! You said so -- _Thorin_ said so! Balin said so! Everyone says so!”

Balin held up a hand. “Easy, lad -- I said you were too young to rule _alone_. I’m not planning to up and leave you anytime soon.”

Bilbo harrumphed, folding his arms. “And considering that Thorin doesn’t want to be king anymore but doesn’t want to _admit_ that he doesn’t want to be king anymore, he probably only said that about you because it was another thing for him to stew over -- and to throw in Fíli’s face when he said _he_ didn’t want to rule. They’ve been having ‘who wants to rule Erebor less’ debates every day. Driving me mad. It’s either drag them off to the Shire or strangle both of them.”

Dáin threw his head back and laughed at that, his beads jingling and his sides heaving with the force of his laughter. He clapped Kíli heartily on the back then.

“There, now! You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of your uncle and brother at the hands of a hobbit, now, would you?” he joked, sending Bilbo a wink.

Kíli’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Bilbo with puppy dog eyes. “But….”

“It’s only until your mother arrives,” Balin interceded kindly. “Although she’ll probably stop in the Shire to see Thorin and Fíli first.”

He whimpered, giving in to the inevitable. Bilbo might have felt sorrier for him if he hadn’t known that Kíli was more capable of ruling than he gave himself credit for -- and that he’d likely rather stay on to court a certain elf maiden than come along to the Shire with the other Durins.

“And you can always come and visit after your mother comes to relieve you,” he said anyway, patting Kíli’s hand.

“And with the two of us here, you’ll do fine,” said Dáin with another hearty laugh.

The meeting adjourned with little further discussion. Balin dragged Kíli off, already talking over the current trade rates for flour and wool -- rates which Bilbo would gladly have reminded Kíli he’d already been overseeing for the past three months while his brother and uncle were out of commission, along with all the other day to day responsibilities that came with ruling Erebor. He’d already been doing it and just hadn’t realised. He would, though, and then there’d be no stopping him.

Smiling and shaking his head, Bilbo turned to leave, only to find Dáin waiting for him. They fell into step together, Dáin stroking his beard while he ruminated over whatever it was he wanted to say.

“Do you really think some rest in the Shire will help Thorin?” he said at last, when Bilbo had given up hope that he would ever speak. “I’ve been concerned about him. He’s…not himself.” He darted a glance at Bilbo. “In a different way than he wasn’t himself during the sickness, I mean.”

Bilbo nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “I understand your meaning. He and Fíli both have had low spirits. But I do think some time in the Shire will help both of them. Thorin has had to carry the weight of his people for too long, and between all those years with no rest, the rigours of the quest, and nearly dying in the battle, it’s all become too much. I don’t know if he’ll change his mind about wanting to be king or not -- but either way, he’s long overdue for some rest.”

Dáin hummed an agreement, and just before the doors to Thorin and Fíli’s healing chamber, he stopped Bilbo with a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a good little fellow, Master Hobbit. Thank you.”

Bilbo smiled and patted Dáin’s hand. “Think nothing of it. I’ll write to let you all know how they’re doing.”

They said amicable goodbyes. Bilbo squared his shoulders and marched through the doors.

“Fíli, put that down!” he barked. “I thought you had sworn off throwing things.”

Fíli guiltily lowered his arm. “It’s only a pillow.”

“That only means that the pillow won’t break,” Bilbo said dryly, crossing to Thorin’s side. “And don’t _you_ look so smug, mister -- don’t think I don’t know very well that the only reason he’s got to that point at all is because you’ve been provoking him.”

Thorin crossed his arms and grumbled something that Bilbo assumed he was better off not hearing. He opted to ignore it and spend some time straightening things and fluffing pillows instead.

“Well,” he said when he’d run out of things to fuss over, “I suppose I should tell you both that I’m taking you back to the Shire with me.”

“What?!” cried Fíli, paling.

“To the Shire?” said Thorin, and by contrast, he smiled for the first time in weeks, sitting up straighter. Bilbo fancied he even gained some colour in his cheeks. “Truly? When?”

Bilbo had an inkling that he knew why Fíli seemed so upset, but as he didn’t have a definite answer to that worry, he made no mention of it.

“As soon as preparations for the journey can be finished,” he said, returning Thorin’s smile. “I fully intend for this journey to go more smoothly than our last, and that means carts and adequate supplies and so forth.”

Thorin’s interest was thoroughly piqued by now. He plucked a map off his bedside table and spread it open on his lap, beckoning Bilbo closer.

“Have you decided on a particular route? How many carts shall we take? Which dwarrow will accompany us? I assume you’re not expecting the three of us to manage the journey alone.”

Bilbo snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! This journey is to be a _sensible_ one! I haven’t yet spoken with Dwalin, but I’m sure he’ll have recommendations for me about who would be the best choices to accompany us.”

Thorin nodded. “Good. Now as to route….”

Bilbo grinned to himself and listened with half an ear to Thorin’s rambling on about the pros and cons of each road. He noted Fíli’s troubled silence, but he already had a plan in mind for that! He made a mental note to speak to a certain dwarrow as soon as Thorin had fallen asleep -- but for the time being, he was going to enjoy Thorin’s good mood. It was a definite sign that at least where the ex-king was concerned, he had made an excellent choice!

Bofur hurried through the halls, determined to make it to the little room that the Company had adopted as their private dining area before dinner was over. It wasn’t that he was all that hungry -- but Bilbo rarely missed a meal, and Bofur wanted to catch him away from Thorin and Fíli.

Well, and preferably any other prying ears, but that was unlikely. He’d settle for Fíli not listening in to the conversation.

Bofur knew what Fíli was to him -- he’d known since they sang and played their instruments together in Bag End, at the beginning of the quest. The way they’d harmonised seamlessly, how they knew all the right notes to hit together without planning it out first, how they’d led the others in inventing silly words to go along with the tune -- that’s what Bilbo Baggins hates, indeed. They hadn’t managed to get their hobbit to sing or play with them even once in all the time since then, much to their fearless leader’s disappointment.

But just because _Bofur_ had felt it between them didn’t mean Fíli had. He was young, yet, and most likely hadn’t played with many other strangers. He’d spent most of his life around family with whom he’d naturally have a sort of “musical kinship” anyway, just from growing up with them, so he might not know what it meant to play so well with someone he’d never played with before.

He didn’t want to press Fíli if he didn’t understand that they were each other’s One, but he also didn’t want to be too far away if and when he realised it -- and he didn’t want to give himself away! Bilbo was smarter than he let on, and it was likely he knew how Bofur felt. He wasn’t the type to tease about something like that, kind-hearted little fellow that he was, but an ill-placed word might be the undoing of Bofur’s secret.

And he just couldn’t take Fíli _pretending_ to like him out of pity.

“Ah, Bofur! Just the dwarrow I wanted to see!”

Bofur stopped in his tracks, blinking at Bilbo’s wide smile. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“I am?”

“Yes, yes! Walk with me,” said Bilbo, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away from the dining room, his pace hurried and movements frenzied.

Bofur allowed himself to be steered. “Now, Bilbo,” he began, attempting to get back on track to what he’d been planning to say. “About this trip to the Shire -- ”

He waved his other hand in a dismissive gesture and continued talking in waspish tones. “We’re leaving in two weeks, so you’ve some time to ask your brother and your cousin if they’re coming along or staying here. Now, as I was saying before you interrupted me, I need to know how much you’re planning to bring so I can arrange the appropriate number of carts. You should bring some money for the journey, but the whole of your share of the treasure won’t be necessary -- it just isn’t any use in the Shire! And then there’s the matter of -- ”

“What makes you think I’m coming along to the Shire?” Bofur asked, just a little helpless now that he’d been thoroughly derailed.

That startled Bilbo so badly he stopped walking with a squawk. He stared at Bofur with wide eyes, his lower lip trembling, and Bofur had the errant thought that it was no wonder the Shire had always been so safe -- all the hobbits had to do was look at the invaders like _that_ and they’d be tripping over themselves to offer their apologies and anything else the hobbits wanted.

“You mean you’re not coming?” Bilbo said in a small, hurt voice.

Bofur puffed up his chest, knocking his hat off to one side. “Now I never said that! I just didn’t like how you went assumin’!”

He smiled crookedly at that, hooking his fingers in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Bofur. Would you like to come along to the Shire?”

Bofur tried to imitate that high-falutin’ sniff his friend did from time to time when something rubbed his tender hobbit sensibilities the wrong way, but he ruined it with a wide grin.

“That’s better. ’Course I’d like to come. Can’t leave you fancy folk alone for too long, or ye run mad!”

Bilbo snorted at that, shaking his head. “I’m afraid it’s far too late to prevent that. But I’ll be glad of your company anyway.” He shot Bofur a sly glance. “Perhaps you can help me keep Fíli entertained on the way.”

Bofur’s face went hot and he stood there groping for something to say so long that Bilbo eventually smiled and bade him good day, promising to give him more details about the journey soon.

“I’m not getting out.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and tried not to look over at the argument brewing between Bofur and Fíli. Everything had been lovely between them for the most part on the journey -- even Thorin hadn’t missed how Fíli lit up when Bofur appeared next to their cart the day they left, leading his pony and wearing a beaming grin, though he hadn’t made any mention of it since then. Bilbo had caught him giving the pair of them considering looks when he thought no one was watching, so he expected to hear about it soon.

At any rate, things were going swimmingly between Fíli and Bofur on this journey. They swapped stories and jokes, and Fíli laughed the loudest in the evenings when Bofur and Nori put on silly little skits to entertain them while they ate.

_But_ \-- for of course there was a but -- they simply could not agree when it came to this -- stopping to bathe. Fíli had, quite frankly, reeked for good portions of the journey, as he refused to leave the cart he was riding in and walk to the stream or the bathhouse, depending on where they had found to stop for the night, or to allow Bofur or Dwalin to carry him.

Bilbo would gladly have helped Bofur try to convince him, but sadly, Fíli wasn’t the only one.

Thorin’s face was a hard mask, but the fact that his scowl was pretty firmly fixed on his lap and his jaw kept twitching were as good as waving flags to Bilbo that he was upset.

“It’s Rivendell, Thorin,” he said as patiently as he knew how. “You can’t stay in the cart because they need to put it in the stables so it’s not blocking the road. There’s only room for one cart abreast. Blame elvish design,” he added, hoping at least for a chuckle at that.

Thorin scowled harder.

Bilbo sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s one night. Besides, perhaps Lord Elrond can…can look at it.”

Thorin actually _winced_ at that and turned his head away.

Because that, naturally, was the root of the problem. Thorin’s injuries from the battle had not fully healed, and he could barely walk. Because he could barely walk, he was ashamed to try, which meant that he stayed in bed, or the cart, most of the time and didn’t get any better at walking. Bilbo had, on more than one occasion, attempted to convince him of the self-defeating, circular nature of this problem, but to no avail.

“Fine,” Thorin muttered, and gripped the side of the cart so hard his knuckles turned white.

Dwalin materialised at Bilbo’s elbow without being summoned, sharing a look with Bilbo. Relief and pain and resignation flowed between both of them, because Thorin couldn’t spend the night in a cart and it was best that he gave in on his own, and now Fíli would undoubtedly give in, too -- but this would not be pretty, even without Thorin’s resistance.

Thorin heaved himself toward the edge of the cart, glowering Dwalin away until the time came to shift his weight onto his feet.

“See there? Yer uncle’s getting out!” Bofur said with an edge of triumph. “You’re gonna feel awfully silly sitting out here by yourself all night!”

Fíli grimaced, but the glance he flicked toward Thorin looked…surprisingly relieved. Bilbo’s eyes narrowed as he considered why that might be. He would have to keep a closer eye on Fíli, it seemed -- perhaps he’d been reading things incorrectly.

Bofur was relieved, too, and helped Fíli out of the cart with his usual bouncing energy and cheerful chatter.

Fíli limped along ahead of his uncle, using Bofur for support, listening with a half-smile that drew his moustache braids up so the beads swung in a rather comical way.

And Thorin…Thorin lurched, leaning heavily on Dwalin, his face tight and twisted with pain. His arm was tucked tight against his side, cradling the area where Bilbo knew a long gash lay, hidden by layers of clothing.

The elves were just as solicitous as Bilbo recalled, and the dwarrow were a good deal more subdued than they had been before, though he couldn’t honestly claim that they were more _grateful_ this time around. That was a bit too much to expect, he reflected wryly. It was enough that they didn’t sneer and they didn’t break anything or go bathing in a fountain this time. They would use regular bathtubs like civilised people, after Lord Elrond finished his examinations.

“I told you they ought to have baths first,” Bilbo said, crinkling his nose.

Thorin shot him an irritated glance -- which meant his attention was distracted from Elrond’s carefully prodding fingers along his side.

“We don’t smell _that_ bad,” he grumbled in protest.

“Nobody ever told me dwarrow were noseblind,” Bilbo said with mock sorrow. “How unfortunate.”

Elrond’s lips twitched, but his expression had smoothed again by the time Thorin looked over his shoulder at him.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“The healing is coming along well,” Elrond replied, with much more gentleness and patience than Bilbo thought Thorin really deserved at the moment. “However, I will send you with some tea to drink in the evenings that should help ease your pain and stiffness.”

Thorin grumbled something about elves and their tea that had Bilbo rolling his eyes, but he straightened when Elrond caught his gaze and tipped his head toward the door. He gave a tiny nod in return, and while Dwalin was helping Thorin back into his clothes and the two of them were arguing about something that had happened fifty years ago, Bilbo slipped into the hall after Elrond.

“I’m sorry about them,” Bilbo said, forcing a chuckle. “Dwarrow, you know.”

Elrond’s lips tipped up. “We wouldn’t have them any other way, I suppose.”

That got a real chuckle out of him, and a fond glance over his shoulder at the closed door. He could still hear the two of them bickering.

“No, I certainly wouldn’t.”

“About Thorin -- ”

Bilbo’s head whipped around, his eyes wide with alarm. “What about Thorin? Is it bad? Is it infected?”

Elrond’s brow rose, but his voice was gentle. “No, Master Baggins, as I said, he is healing well.”

He swallowed hard. “But?”

He wasn’t quite ready to believe that everything was fine, not when Elrond had pulled him aside like this. He didn’t think he could take any more bad news where Thorin was concerned, but if he had to, then he was going to be braced for it.

“ _But_ ,” Elrond said, smiling slightly, “it would be healing faster if he would try to do a little more each day. Part of his pain is from the muscle weakening from having to lie still so long -- he needs to strengthen his body again, and the only way he’s going to do that is by moving. It is apparent to me that he is not doing that.”

Bilbo blinked up at him. “My dear Lord Elrond, you are selling the beef back to the butcher.”

Elrond’s brow wrinkled and his lips pursed, but he didn’t actually _say_ that he was confused. Bilbo briefly toyed with the idea of leaving him hanging, but -- well, Thorin’s health was more important than entertaining himself with a bit of mischief.

“Means I already know,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “Why are you telling me this, rather than Thorin? It’s _his_ health.”

His smile was wry. “Do you honestly think that he would listen to me over you, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo looked at one of Elrond’s ears, then the other, twiddled his nose and sniffed. “No, I suppose you’re right.”

They shared a smile at that, and the door finally opened, Thorin and Dwalin looking between them.

“Looks like we interrupted a pointy-ear meeting,” Dwalin grunted.

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You did, my round-eared dwarrow, but I’ll forgive you if you tell me the story you promised me about Fíli and Kíli and the stinging nettles.”

“No!” Fíli cried from the other healing room. “Not that story! Any story but that one! Dwalin!”

“You lie back down this instant!” Bofur squawked, and there was an ominous thump.

“Everything’s fine! No need to come in here!” Fíli shouted.

Elrond sighed, inclining his head to them. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I should see to the young prince.”

He disappeared through the door just as there was another squawk and a crash, and they could hear Fíli and Bofur talking over each other as they rushed to explain.

Bilbo chuckled while Dwalin rolled his eyes and Thorin grumbled. They were both trying to hide smiles, though, so Bilbo didn’t scold them as he ushered them to Thorin’s room.

“There’s a nice, hot, steamy bath waiting for you,” he teased, prancing around Thorin and Dwalin on light feet. “Although it might be cold by the time we get there! Come on, I thought you dwarrow were sprinters!”

Thorin was smiling, despite the effort of walking. “Not as fast as hobbits, perhaps,” he said mildly.

“Not even on a good day,” Bilbo shot back, laughing. “Not a one of you could catch me, not even Bombur!”

“You’ll just have to wait for us to catch up.”

He stopped at the end of the hall, his smile soft. “Of course, Thorin -- I’ll always wait for you.”

Thorin stopped walking, too, looking up at him with surprise. His expression was just starting to melt, to warm into something like that look he’d worn on the Carrock, when Dwalin broke the moment.

“We’ll never get there at all if you make me do all the work,” he grunted.

Thorin dropped his gaze and returned his attention to walking.

Bilbo tried not to sigh.

The accommodations in Thorin’s room for the night were impeccable, enough to make any hobbit sigh with pleasure, but of course the dwarrow found something to grumble about at every turn. He was used to that and mostly tuned it out, other than to tsk a little when they complained about the flowery smell of the bath.

“I’ll have you know that I _like_ flowers, as do most hobbits, so you’ll be smelling quite a lot of them in the Shire.”

Thorin flushed and muttered an apology, but Dwalin just shrugged.

“Guess I’ll have to invest in a nose plug, then.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, you two rascals -- I’ll leave you to get washed up and grab us all a bite of something for dinner so you don’t have to inflict your grumblings on our poor hosts! Thorin, I’ll get you some soup if I can and a warm loaf -- Dwalin, what would you like, if I can find it?”

Dwalin didn’t much care, as long as it was meat. Bilbo had assumed as much, but it never hurt to ask.

Except for Thorin. He always knew what Thorin wanted to eat. It was part of the whole deal.

He noted Thorin’s intent gaze when he skipped out of the room, but he didn’t quite know what to make of it, so he shrugged it off as best he could.


	2. Part Two

Fíli had tried, rather desperately, to convince Bofur to leave the room while he bathed. The problem was that Bofur had several very good points.

“I need a bath, too, and it’s faster if we take ours at the same time, seein’ as there’s two tubs anyway. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry, so the faster we get done, the faster we can eat,” he’d pointed out reasonably over all of Fíli’s pitiful objections. “Besides, we can’t have your royal self drownin’ if you bathe unsupervised, now, can we?”

Lord Elrond _had_ given him something to relax him, because apparently some of his pain was from too much tension, and he’d told Bofur to keep an eye on him because he might fall asleep in the bath. Technically speaking, Bofur was just following orders, then.

And they _were_ both very hungry.

It was just…now Bofur could see him. _All_ of him. On display, for the first time since the battle. He tried to keep his back turned as much as possible and got into the bath up to his neck as quickly as he could. He didn’t move very fast these days, though, and he reddened and looked away when he noted Bofur’s eyes on him.

“Just makin’ sure you don’t hit your princely head,” he teased.

“I won’t,” Fíli muttered, grabbing the soap and scrubbing vigorously.

There was a little silence, and he heard some splashing. He assumed it meant Bofur had followed his example -- he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned and found Bofur leaning against the edge of _his_ tub, not three inches from his face.

“Bah!” He sighed, leaning away. “Don’t _do_ that!”

Bofur flicked some water at him, grinning. “Why? Just havin’ a little fun!”

He sank a little lower in the water, rolling his eyes. “Fun for you, maybe.”

His smile dimmed a little. “What are you so shy for?”

Fíli straightened, scowling. “Me? _Shy_?”

“You keep yerself covered up so! Never did that on the journey before,” Bofur said with that teasing edge, but his eyes were serious and concerned.

It wasn’t natural, not on that cheerful face. It made Fíli feel guilty, somehow.

“Well, what about you?” he shot back, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve never seen you without that hat! When was the last time you even washed that hair?”

Bofur laughed at that, standing and tossing his hat aside. “You want me to wash my hair -- all right, all right, I’ll wash my hair, then.”

Fíli swallowed, staring up at Bofur. It was somehow mesmerising, watching those long up-turned braids slowly droop and turn to a curtain of loose, wavy hair. Despite how much time had probably passed since it was last washed, it still shone and flowed like water over his shoulders.

When he met Bofur’s eyes, he was no longer smiling. He turned away, gripping the soap and watching a bubble slide over it.

“I’ll, uh…just get myself clean, then,” Bofur said lowly.

There was a note of hurt in his voice.

Fíli’s head snapped up. “Bofur, I didn’t -- ”

“It’s all right!” he said brightly, but Fíli knew him -- he knew it was forced. “It’s all right, I know I’m not much to look at, and -- ”

“You?!” Fíli sputtered. “You’re _beautiful_ , you’re -- ”

He stopped, feeling the blood drain from his face.

A grin slowly spread across Bofur’s face. “Me? Beautiful?”

The blood returned and then some -- Fíli’s face warmed until he swore his moustache would catch fire.

“You know you’re beautiful,” he muttered, and cursed quietly when the soap slipped out of his grip and fell to the bottom of the tub.

Bofur knelt beside the tub again, leaning over to retrieve it for him and handing it over with a splash and a flourish. “You’re beautiful, too.”

His grin was as merry as ever, but his voice was utterly serious.

Fíli scoffed. “Right. The scars really put the finishing touches on, don’t they,” he muttered, rubbing absently at the jagged, raised pink line on his leg where the bone had come through when he fell.

Bofur laughed. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when ye fell off that cliff?”

He tried to muster a glare, but he was too baffled by that remark. “What?”

He shook his head, making his hair move and shimmer in an utterly distracting manner. “I’m a miner and I’ve been in a fight or two of my own. Do you think I got this far without a few scars of my own?”

Fíli just stared. Bofur sighed a little and stood up again, running his strong fingers down his side, drawing Fíli’s gaze. There were, indeed, a few scars here and there. Fíli barely noticed them. They just looked like they belonged. Far more notable were the thick layer of muscle and the healthy growth of dark hair that covered his torso.

Bofur chuckled. “I know I’m not much to look at for other people as it is -- a bit on the scrawny side -- but I like me well enough. And if _my_ scars don’t bother me, why would yours?”

“No, you’re not scrawny, you’re _perfect_ ,” Fíli stammered out, shaking his head vigorously. “How could I -- to have _you_ as my -- ”

He stopped, clenching his jaw and dropping his gaze again.

Bofur sat on the edge of the tub, unusually tentative. “Your….” He swallowed noisily. “Then…you’ve felt it?”

Fíli nodded and said nothing. Of course he knew Bofur was his One, his soulmate. How could he not know? The music they made together was more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard, and even new songs of Bofur’s invention came to him as easily as the songs he’d known his whole life.

Bofur blew out a breath, tapping his fingers on the edge of the tub. “Then why didn’t ye _say_ anything? I thought maybe you…didn’t feel it, or you didn’t _want_ it, or….”

His heart clenched, and he couldn’t help but reach out, his fingers closing over Bofur’s, stilling the anxious tapping.

“Bofur, no! Of course I wanted it -- of course I want you!”

Bofur’s eyes brightened at that, but he didn’t interrupt. Fíli hadn’t meant to admit so much, but perhaps it was time. At any rate, no turning back now. Kíli had been advising him to talk to Bofur for months, and now they were finally alone. What better opportunity could there be?

“Why else -- why else do you think I’ve been fighting so hard not to take over the rule of Erebor?” Fíli pressed on, swallowing back his fears. “We could rule together, nobody’s going to argue when I say you’re my One, but -- but I can’t see you happy spending your life in court, having to obey all those rules and dress a certain way and _act_ a certain way…. How could you be when _I’m_ not always happy with it? And I’m even less happy when I think of making decisions that could cost people their lives. I’m happy to make my family proud, but…I’d rather live a simple life, making music and spending time with the people I love.”

He looked down at Fíli’s hand over his. Fíli had seen him smile before, but never quite like this -- his eyes warm and his mouth soft. Usually his grins were sharp, like he was daring the world to try and dent the cheer and good humour he wore like armour. This smile was gentle. It made Fíli want to kiss him.

“I’d like that, too,” Bofur said at last, low and warm. “Just…travel around sellin’ toys and making music for people…with you.”

Fíli licked his lips. “Then…then you really don’t mind…my limp, and my scars, and -- ”

“No, not at all! They’re badges of your courage! And you’ll learn to see them that way, too, one day. If ye didn’t have these scars, then ye might not be alive at all, and they’re a testament to that,” Bofur said proudly. “I’d rather you were alive even if you’d lost every limb ye got -- I’d still think you were the most handsome dwarrow I ever laid eyes on.”

He tried not to grin at that, but he couldn’t help it. Somehow, he didn’t feel as much pain in his leg just now, and he wasn’t sure whether to attribute that more to the warm water or the compliment.

“So what now?” he asked instead, moving his fingers to twine with Bofur’s.

Bofur shifted uncomfortably. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“Well…how do ya want to break it to Thorin? I don’t want your uncle disowning you or worse.”

Fíli grinned wider. “Don’t you worry about that. Firstly, Thorin is a secret romantic -- he always loved all those tales of my mum’s about star-crossed lovers and kings falling for shepherds and whatnot. He won’t mind at all that you’re a miner and a toymaker. In fact, that might be a point in our favour, as he’ll probably be a little more understanding about me not wanting to take the throne for him once he knows.”

Bofur relaxed a little at that. “And secondly?”

“Secondly, even if I’m totally wrong and he pitches a fit, Bilbo’s here -- he won’t let Thorin get too far into a rage before he whips him into shape again,” he said, laughing a bit wickedly at the thought.

He hadn’t liked being on the receiving end of it, but he certainly couldn’t deny Bilbo’s talent for keeping them on their best behaviour!

Bofur laughed along at the mere thought. “Oh, I just bet! I almost wish he would throw a fit just so I could see it -- almost!”

Fíli shook his head, still laughing. “Now, get in here, before the bathwater gets completely cold -- we’re both still filthy, and _hungry_!”

His eyes lit up. “Starved,” he agreed, and pressed his lips to Fíli’s.

Thorin was watching for Fíli and Bofur the next morning at breakfast -- mostly so he didn’t have to watch Bilbo getting along so swimmingly with the _elves_ \-- so he was the first one to notice them walking in. More importantly, he was the first one to notice that they were holding hands. He froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, blinking in surprise.

“Thorin? What -- oh! It’s about time,” Bilbo said, smiling.

Thorin turned to him, his brow creasing. “About time?”

He’d known that Fíli had a soft spot for Bofur, but then, most of them did. He was a cheerful, helpful sort of dwarrow, and Thorin couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t like him.

Bilbo nodded. “Oh, yes! They’ve been mooning over each other at _least_ since Lake-town! I’m so glad to see them finally together,” he added with a happy sigh.

Thorin was, too -- _after_ they’d sat down and began to eat, laughing and joking with everyone. He hadn’t seen Fíli so much like _himself_ in far too long. He was beaming and confident and cheerful. It reminded Thorin of how Fíli was at home, before the quest, when the day’s work was done and he could finally shed some of his seriousness and just relax. It was good to see it.

Although, there was a small, selfish part of Thorin that was jealous, he reflected, glancing at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. He was almost completely sure that Bilbo was his One, but without sharing any music, how could he ever approach him? If they could sing together or play together, then surely Bilbo would see, would know, as Thorin knew, without him having to say anything….

He ruthlessly squelched such thoughts and pushed them away, embracing his joy for Fíli. His problem with approaching Bilbo had no place in his happiness for Fíli at finding his One.

He congratulated them both warmly, pretending not to notice how surprised Bofur looked.

“I suppose this is why you don’t want any part in ruling Erebor?” he added lightly when they were nearly finished.

Fíli’s smile faded at that. “Uncle…I’m sorry, but yes. I just…. We don’t want….”

Thorin held up a hand. “You don’t need to explain, I understand. I wish you both every happiness in your new life.”

Bilbo beamed at him proudly, and even Dwalin looked fairly content.

Fíli, however, remained troubled. “But what about you? I don’t want you to feel like you have to go back, just because I….”

Thorin warmed. He truly didn’t deserve such good, loving sister-sons. Of course Fíli was worried about how it would affect _him_ \-- he wouldn’t even get out of the cart yesterday until Thorin finally caved to Bilbo, despite being perfectly capable of walking up to one of the guest rooms with little aid, too worried about his uncle spending a night outside alone to accept the invitation.

He reached across the table to pat Fíli’s hand. “Don’t worry about that,” he said kindly. “For now, we both need to heal. We’ll go and spend some time in the Shire, and I’ll decide what I wish to do when I’m well again. I have faith in your brother and your mother to handle it in the meantime.”

That brightened Fíli’s spirits again thoroughly. Only Bilbo remained mysteriously quiet as they finished eating and began preparations to leave.

Thorin wished he could reach out, but he wasn’t sure Bilbo would appreciate that. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other instead -- he needed the concentration, anyway, if he didn’t want to land flat on his face. He was going to try to do better about moving around now, though -- that would please Bilbo, at least.

Life in the Shire was as content as it always was. A part of Bilbo, deep down in his middle, had relaxed as soon as they crossed its borders, and that feeling of being _home_ had only increased as they settled into Bag End. He was teaching Dwalin how to bake, and Fíli and Bofur put on little concerts for them every evening, often with Bofur’s hair down and his hat perched on Fíli’s head. They took turns singing, though Bilbo liked it best when Fíli fiddled -- he was truly amazing at it, showing such skill that Bilbo found himself staring spellbound, and clapped until his hands hurt after the song was over. Sometimes Dwalin would take out his violin and accompany the two of them, although they seemed to stick to the same three or four songs when he did.

Thorin joined Bilbo on his morning and evening walks, slowly at first, then with gradually increasing strength. He even began accompanying Bilbo to the market as winter set in, helping him tote the groceries back to Bag End. He would likely always have a limp, just like Fíli, but he was visibly more comfortable as time went on.

Bilbo was feeling better about himself, too. He’d been so thin by the time the battle came on them, and there hadn’t been much to eat by hobbit standards afterwards. Now that he was eating like a proper hobbit again, he was starting to fill out again. By autumn, his belly was starting to round almost to its former proportions. His companions, too, were benefiting from proper meals -- even Dwalin and Thorin, who’d always been all hard angles and lean (for dwarrow) muscle, began to soften a little and look healthier. They all seemed to be in better moods for it, and Bilbo was happy and proud to be taking care of all of them and himself so well.

The rest of the Company came that winter, supposedly to celebrate the Midwinter Festival with Bilbo, but he suspected it was because they wanted to escape Dís for a while. They all complained about her and her “iron fist,” which Bilbo just didn’t understand, as she’d been perfectly lovely to him when she stopped to see Thorin and Fíli for a few weeks on her way to Erebor.

“Yes, lovely to _you_ ,” Thorin said, between licking the cake batter off of Bilbo’s mixing spoon. “But that’s only because she thinks you’re going to fix what’s apparently wrong with the rest of us. _We_ all got blistered ears for worrying her and strict instructions on how to take care of ourselves -- and poor Bofur looked ready to flee for a permanent holiday in the south.”

Bilbo swiped the spoon back and handed Thorin the spoon he’d used to mix up the icing -- that was the one he really wanted anyway. Dwarrow and their love of sugar!

“To be fair, you all almost died and probably worried her nearly to death herself,” he pointed out, raising his brows. “I speak from experience. Trust me, you deserved those blistered ears.”

Balin stifled a chuckle from the corner. “Yes, well, be that as it may, we all felt that she could handle things just fine while we came for a visit.”

Bilbo smiled. “I’m sure she can, and I’m very happy to have all of you. Now, Balin, what would you like for tomorrow’s dessert? This was Kíli’s request.”

“He would eat fruitcake for every meal, I think,” Balin said with an unsurprised sigh.

“It’s the icing,” he said sagely. “He’s in for a huge surprise when he discovers that fruitcake isn’t the only dessert I put that icing on.”

Balin laughed at that, but Thorin was just staring at Bilbo with a thoughtful expression. He turned away when he noticed Bilbo’s eyes on him, but only to look at the spoon in his hand with that same thoughtful expression.

Perhaps he was wondering what else Bilbo put icing on.

They spent a lovely day baking and catching up, and Kíli was excitedly trying to plan a party to celebrate Fíli and Bofur’s engagement as soon as he found out that Bofur had crafted an engagement bead for Fíli. Bofur didn’t seem too irritated at having his surprise spoiled, but that might be because Fíli literally squealed and grabbed him by the braids for a kiss that sent everyone else out of the room to give them some privacy.

Bilbo assumed that a conversation would be had sooner or later about who was going to rule Erebor for good, since Fíli was clearly not going to do it, but it hadn’t happened yet. Although that conversation might not be as hard as Bilbo had originally assumed it would be; Kíli, among his excitement over Fíli and Bofur’s engagement, had still managed to express how proud he was of how much progress had been made in Erebor’s restoration. Balin had also mentioned how well he was doing, which only made Kíli prouder. Thorin might get his wish after all, as Kíli had not only taken to ruling Erebor, but was actually enjoying it, under the tutelage of Balin and his mother.

That didn’t automatically mean that Thorin would stay here, Bilbo reminded himself harshly, setting a plate of sweet rolls on the tray with a little more force than he’d intended. Thorin had seemed content so far, but his wounds were healed, he was healthy -- surely the company of other dwarrow would be a draw to bring him back to his mountain, even just to live there?

He started to leave the kitchen, paused, and grabbed another slice of ham from earlier off the counter. He handed it to Thorin when he stepped back into the sitting room before passing around the tray of goodies to the others. Thorin accepted the ham happily, only to pause and give Bilbo another of those thoughtful looks.

Bilbo shrugged it off, settling himself in his favourite chair with his mug of tea. “What next?”

“I want to learn some of the songs I heard some of the other hobbits singing today when you took Dori and I to the market!” Ori said eagerly, his eyes bright.

“Oh, yes!” Fíli agreed. “Bofur and I need to learn some hobbit songs, too! We’re going to start travelling around the Shire performing, and no one’s going to tip us if we don’t know any of the songs they ask for.”

Bofur nodded in agreement, earning himself a squawk from Fíli, who was sitting behind him and brushing his hair, which was now twisted around the brush.

Bilbo hesitated. “Er -- well. You see….”

Nori cocked his head like a bird, observing him curiously. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing, Bilbo.”

He could feel his cheeks heating as they all looked at him. “Well…it’s just that I….”

“Don’t ye know how ta sing?” Glóin asked loudly, which made Óin aware of what was going on, at least.

Bilbo’s whole face felt unbearably hot. “Well enough for a hobbit, I guess, but not….” He blew out a breath, clasping both hands around his tea. “You’re all so talented, and I’m…not. I can carry a tune, but only barely,” he admitted in a rush.

They exchanged glances, some pitying and others confused. It was Thorin, however, who spoke, his eyes warm and his voice almost unbearably gentle.

“That doesn’t matter, Bilbo. We just want to sing and make merry with you. Your level of talent at singing isn’t as important as enjoying yourself.”

“He’s right, Bilbo!” Kíli piped up. “Even if you sound like a cat being strangled, it doesn’t matter -- this isn’t a concert, and we’re not here to make fun of you, we just want to learn your hobbit songs for the Midwinter Festival!”

There was a chorus of agreement, and Bilbo cleared his throat, tamping down on the sentiment and fondness misting up his eyes.

“Well, all right, then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” he said with all the cheer he could muster.

Thorin looked oddly triumphant as he pulled his harp into his lap, watching Bilbo expectantly.

Whatever it was he was expecting, what he got was some shaky renditions of traditional hobbit songs. He sang each of them twice, so that they could all join in the second time, which they all did enthusiastically every time, especially Ori, Bofur, and Fíli.

Thorin, on the other hand, seemed only to grow more irritated as the night wore on. His fingers fumbled at the harp, and he listened with an unusual fierceness to Bilbo’s singing, which only served to make Bilbo more nervous, until he started forgetting the words.

“It’s late,” Dwalin finally grunted when Bilbo had flubbed up “fireplace” for the third time in a row.

Balin stifled a yawn and rose from his chair. “My brother is right for once,” he said, shooting Dwalin a teasing wink. “I think it’s time we all headed for bed. Perhaps we can teach you some dwarvish songs that are traditional around this time of year tomorrow night.”

Bilbo forced a smile. “I’d like that.”

He got up and saw them all to bed with much hugging and back-patting -- all except Thorin. He went back to the sitting room to clean up and found him leaning against the mantle, staring into the hearth with a troubled expression.

He stepped closer tentatively, feeling strangely guilty, though he wasn’t sure why he should feel so terrible about singing as badly as he’d warned them he would.

“Thorin? Aren’t you tired?”

Thorin’s frown deepened for a moment, but he shook it off as he straightened to face Bilbo, forcing a smile. “No. I’d like to help you clean up.”

Bilbo tried to smile back, but suspected it came off as more of a grimace. “Thank you.”

There really wasn’t much left to do, as the dwarrow were tidy and helpful about things like that, so after they had swept up the last crumbs and washed up a couple of stray cups and plates, Bilbo made them each a cup of tea and settled down at the kitchen table across from Thorin. He put five cubes of sugar in Thorin’s without having to ask, but left his black, though that wasn’t his preference.

Thorin tilted his head. “You usually take it with a dollop of honey and a squeeze of lemon.”

Bilbo sipped his tea and grimaced. Yes, that was what he wanted -- but he shook his head.

“Not right now. I’m getting tired, but I’d like to be awake for this, and if I take it black, it will wake me up more.”

He tensed a little at that, his hand tightening around his mug. “Awake for what?”

Bilbo sighed. “Relax, it’s nothing bad. I’d just like to know why you’re so upset.”

Thorin’s jaw tightened, too, and his eyes dropped to his tea. “I’m not upset.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right -- I’ve only known you for nearly three years now and am seeing _all_ the usual signs that mean you’re upset, but sure, I’m wrong.”

His biting tone must have alerted Thorin, because he blew out a breath, his shoulders slumping.

“I -- it’s nothing,” he said, while his tone said exactly the opposite. “I only thought I knew something, but I must have been wrong.”

Bilbo blinked. Well, that cleared up exactly nothing.

“Well, that clears up exactly nothing,” he said brusquely. “Thank you. It’s all as clear as molasses now.”

He regretted taking that tack immediately, as Thorin’s expression turned pained, but he didn’t get a chance to try to smooth it over or apologise.

“No, you’re right,” Thorin said quietly, shaking his head. “That doesn’t explain anything, not to anyone who isn’t a dwarrow.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts. Bilbo stayed silent, watching him. Thorin wanted more sugar in his tea, so he busied himself by putting another sugar cube in his cup while he waited.

Thorin looked up, blinking. “How do you always know?” he blurted.

Bilbo frowned. “Know what?”

This was, in his opinion, getting quite off the subject, but he didn’t want to snap at Thorin when he’d already done so and hurt him less than five minutes ago.

“You always know what I want to eat or drink,” he said, showing his bewilderment openly. “You never ask me what I want for a meal or what I’d like from the market, you just _know,_ and you give it to me. How do you know that?”

Bilbo cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Oh, ah. Well.” He cleared his throat again, turning away from Thorin’s intent, questioning gaze. “It’s a hobbit thing, I suppose.”

There. That didn’t give too much away.

“But you always ask the others,” Thorin said slowly, his brows drawing together as he tried to work it out. “I’m the only one you don’t need to ask to know what I want to eat, or how I want my tea, or if I want tea at all.”

Apparently, he wasn’t going to get away from this conversation with his dignity intact. He squirmed in his chair, debating fleeing, but decided that was unfair. If he expected Thorin to be honest about what he was upset about, the least he could do was be honest in return.

“It _is_ a hobbit thing,” he insisted quietly, swirling his tea and watching the liquid lap the sides so he didn’t have to look Thorin in the eye when he admitted his secret. “We…know exactly what another hobbit -- or a dwarrow, apparently -- wants to eat or drink, because food is so important to us, you know…. Well, we know what the other person wants…if that person is our other half. Our soulmate.”

He winced a little when he finished. His throat clicked when he swallowed, so that was as good an excuse as any to gulp down some of his tea and continue avoiding Thorin’s gaze.

It seemed like an eternity before Thorin spoke.

“I…know how you like your tea,” he said, with the air of someone coming to a realisation, “and that your favourite kind of eggs are poached, and that your favourite food is honey, and that’s why you use that to sweeten your tea instead of sugar. I know in the morning when you’re going to have an extra piece of sausage, and when you’re only going to have toast. I know that right now what you’d really like is some honey in your tea and another sweet roll.”

Bilbo’s head shot up and he found Thorin regarding him with equal surprise.

“How do I know this?” he asked, half to himself and half to Bilbo.

Bilbo’s lips parted. His heart was racing, hope stirring in his chest for the first time in a long time.

“Perhaps because I’m your soulmate?” he suggested, his voice coming out in a rasp.

Thorin’s eyes softened and he tentatively reached out. Bilbo snatched at his hand before he could withdraw it, holding on like Thorin’s grip on him was all that was keeping him from floating right out of his body. At the moment, he wasn’t sure that it wasn’t.

“I thought that you were,” Thorin said, his tone warm with awe and love. “From that moment I held you on the Carrock and it felt so _right_ , I was sure you were. But dwarrow find our soulmates by singing together, by finding that we complement each other no matter what instrument we choose or song we know. Tonight, I couldn’t find your melody in any of the songs you were singing, and I thought…. No, I knew I wasn’t wrong, but I thought that while you are _my_ soulmate -- perhaps _I_ wasn’t _yours_.”

Bilbo’s heart melted with love and sympathy, and he set his tea aside to clasp both hands around Thorin’s. “Oh -- oh, Thorin, no. You are -- you _are_ my soulmate, and I am yours. I’ve known from the very moment I met you, when I opened the door and knew instantly that you wanted nothing more than a hot bowl of stew. I’d never in my life known what someone wanted to eat before I knew their name,” he added, chuckling breathlessly.

Thorin laughed, too, lacing his fingers with Bilbo’s and leaning closer until Bilbo could smell the sweet tea on his breath. “I didn’t notice before. I wasn’t looking for such a sign, but you’re right -- now that I know this is the hobbit way, you’re right. I’ve always known what you were hungry for.”

Bilbo smiled. “Then right now you must know that I’m hungry for a kiss?”

Thorin grinned brightly, leaning even closer, leaning their foreheads together, brushing the tip of his nose against Bilbo’s. “Mm, yes, I think I might have detected that.”

“Well?” Bilbo asked cheekily.

Thorin chuckled, a low rumble that sent pleasant shivers down Bilbo’s spine, and obliged him.

Bilbo threw his arms around Thorin’s neck and sighed happily into the kiss. This might be the only thing he was hungry for the rest of his life, and he was fairly certain Thorin was in complete agreement.

When they pulled away to catch their breath, Bilbo had only one question left.

“So you’re not going back to Erebor, then?”

Thorin smiled and stroked a hand through his hair. “Perhaps, to visit Dís and Kíli and the others every other year or so, but not without you.”

Bilbo beamed and pulled Thorin’s head down for another kiss. He was happier than he could ever remember being, and he was gladder now than he ever had been that he’d signed that contract. He made a mental note to invite Gandalf to the wedding, if he could figure out how to get a message to him. It was the least he could do to thank him for introducing him to his soulmate and future husband.

(The End.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic, antieyes! :) <3 (And everyone else, too, of course!) ;)
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone!


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